In the dark foggy shadows of a London back street where the most unsavory characters in the old Muggle town lurked, a man in black robes was skulking down the grimy pavement towards his destination at the end of the street. People who were up to no good, who fitted into the most obvious stereotypes you could imagine passed him on the road. Skinny men with shaved heads wearing tight denim jackets and ragged trousers glared at him. They were obviously drug-starved and desperate, looking for the most obviously well off people to rob. The man in the black robes had a weapon in his trouser waistband and so felt no fear and stared back at the threatening strangers.
He was a wizard, a very powerful wizard and his weapon was a magic wand. Ebony and unicorn hair, eight inches, he’d had it all his life. Ebony like a dark exterior; misleading and solid. Unicorn hair ran through the centre; a scrap of the pure at heart to reflect the wand owner.
Two large black men were having a fight over a screaming blonde woman and were really laying into one another outside a pub. Blood spattered the pavement as he walked past, this time he chose to keep his wandering eyes to himself. The woman screamed for his assistance but he chose not to intervene, it was not as if he could do anything anyway. They weren’t hitting the woman so he didn’t care.
The further down the street he walked, the darker it seemed to get, the dirtier the streets seemed to be, the more people who he normally wouldn’t have had anywhere near him seemed to appear from nowhere. He guessed he probably should have dressed for the occasion, wearing something a little more native so he may at least blend in, but it was too late for that now. He wore plain black trousers with buttons at the ankles and button down robes over them with a long black cloak over the top. The cuffs and high necked collar of his white shirt beneath all that peered out but only for a glimpse. He was 37 years old, handsome, with glittering obsidian eyes and chin length black hair that he cut himself into choppy lengths. It was a messy yet sleek hairstyle that attracted many insults from the pupils he taught at the school were he worked. He was Potions Master at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry and his name was Professor Severus Snape. He was the kind of man that would mislead you into thinking he was shy with his body language and then when you were least expecting it, would cut you down with an ascorbic insult that would leave you reeling for weeks. Walking down those dirty streets was like walking through a dark forest with no trees. Stark street lamps shone flickering yellow/orange light down in pools on the concrete.
Whenever Snape came into the Muggle world, he couldn’t help but feel shocked at how they had let their world go, how little care they took of it. There was chewing gum stuck to the floor and litter everywhere, piles of vomit randomly spaced outside pubs and late-night eateries. People spat into the gutter as they walked past him. A man dressed in women’s clothing stalked past him, lean legs stretching forward in a graceful frog-march. A group of women in barely no clothing were stood eating chips outside a take away, giggling and pointing at him. He chose not to hear whatever it was they were saying about him, guessing it was probably none too pleasant. He would be glad when he reached his destination.
Exactly three minutes more walking and he arrived. It was a building that from the outside looked like an empty warehouse, except for the fact that it had a light above the doorway that burned bright and scarlet red; a beacon of depravity in the middle of hell, the sign he looked for down this back street.
He pressed the doorbell and waited for a noise to indicate the lock was taken from the door and he could enter. The noise came, like a drill, but more annoying and he pushed the heavy door open. Inside it was pitch black but he knew exactly where he was going, just like everyone who went there did. He walked in a straight line for a few moments until he came to another door and he went through it. On the other side there was a room that was vibrant with colour and noisy with people. Someone took his cloak and he felt a little better now he was at least within familiar surroundings, though still not completely relaxed. He went over to the counter where a secretary sat chewing gum noisily as she fingered her way through a magazine. There were posters and pictures from pornographic magazines pasted all over the walls and a TV mounted on a high bracket was playing a dirty video, which was emitting very loud sexual noises and displaying images most were not used to seeing in a waiting area. The girl had a huge blonde perm that was stacked on top of her head and secured in place with a diamonte clip.
"Snape is it?" she said in a rough London dialect.
"Correct."
"What do you want? An off the peg, or do you want to wait for one of the gold card girls?"
"Wait for one of them? Are they all busy?"
"It is a Saturday, Mr. Snape. We offer an escort service as well as girls for sex. They’re all out I’m afraid, the good ones at least. We only have the special request girls left."
"Which is?"
"Girls that have been specifically requested previously, other peoples fetishes."
"Ah, well an ‘off the peg’ then if you will. I only have the next hour, so hurry it up. I have a train to catch."
She came out from behind the counter and he followed her into a side room, just opposite the counter. The side room was a little like a doctors waiting room where all the ‘ladies’ sat to wait for their punters. There were chairs and tables stacked with both women’s interest magazines and pornographic material. Women were sat about not doing a great deal. He realized he was supposed to choose which one he wanted to sleep with in one of the specially designed rooms upstairs.
"Could you introduce me?" he whispered to the secretary. She looked at him like she had better things to do. Like it would matter anyway, he would only fuck her and leave. It’s not as if the girls were there to leave a lasting impression.
"Over here we have the twins; Kinky and Busty Venus. For those with a thing for racial stereotypes." She waved a hand to the direction of two identical Chinese girls wearing electric blue PVC Chinese dresses with gold dragons painted up the left hand sides. They had long dark honey colored legs that seemed to go on forever and dark flicks of eye make-up which excentuated their already dramatic oriental eyes. The thought of having twins please him was appealing, but he doubted there would be enough time.
"This is Angel Thong. She’s from America." Angel Thong was a plastic surgeons nightmare, in the way that everything you could possibly have altered via the surgeons blade, she had done. She had waves of peroxide blonde hair that spilled down onto her perfect DD cup breasts, which were as hard as rocks and set too high up on her chest. To be frank, she made him feel a little queasy. It would be like fucking a rubber sex doll and as lonely as he was, he had not reached those depths just yet. Her face looked ever so slightly strange. Like it had been peeled off, messed around with a little and then put back on her skull.
"Ginger Pretty." The next girl had Weasley-red hair in large curls. She wore it in bunches. She had on a yellow dress with large daisies all over it and freckles dotted all over her nose, but the freckles looked as though they had been drawn on. So far she looked the most wholesome so he kept her as a viable option. She did look quite young though.
"Stephanie Bends. She’s our resident Dominatrix." Stephanie was a buxom black woman with long shining black hair and purple contacts in her eyes. She waved her horse crop at him in greeting but he rolled his eyes and shook his head. He was the dominant one in sexual situations and he couldn’t stand women who wanted to take that pleasure away from him, not only that but he always tended to believe that dominant women were a tad tiresome.
"Bonnie Lick-Lick. She’s a house favourite." Miss Lick-Lick was a gorgeous blonde in a school uniform with huge glittery green eyes. But professor Snape was a teacher and went to brothels to get away from silly girls in school uniforms. It offered no arousal at all.
The door opened from behind them and another person came in. She was obviously another prostitute because she went straight over to the seating area and flopped into the nearest chair, picking up a magazine as she went. She must have just come in from another job and was now waiting for the next one. She had long, straight soft-looking raven black hair with bright blonde streaks in it and black lipstick. She pulled up her black skirt and extracted a wad of money from the garter just above her fishnet stocking on her left leg.
"Here." She said and waved a cut of the money towards the secretary. "I believe this is your cut."
"This is Betty Velvet. Slut to all classes, particularly the lower ones." The secretary introduced as her she snatched the money from the Gothic looking whore.
"Yes, thank you Debbie." Betty snapped.
Snape looked at the girls sat before him. Each a dramatic difference from the next. He had to decide quickly as he didn’t have too much time and wanted to at least have a drink with the girl as well before he deflowered her.
"Any recommendations?" he asked.
"All of them are as good as each other but Betty is a favorite with those who can’t make up their minds. She does pretty much everything. She even kisses on the mouth."
That sounded appealing.
"I’ll take her then."
The secretary nodded and handed him a room key from a pocket in her blouse.
"You know the price, usual £60 quid. Your room is at the top back left at the top of the stairs. Any screaming or funny noises and I’ll get one of the pimps up there to beat the shit out of you. Don’t know why I’m telling you any of this. You must get sick of hearing it. Enjoy yourself, Mr. Snape, see you next time."
The secretary winked at him and left through the door they had come in through. Betty Velvet rose from the chair she was sat on and placed her hands on the bottom of her back, indicating she had an ache. "Come on then babe, we’ve only got fifty minutes." She said and took the key from his hand. He followed her up the stairs at the other side of the room, watching her bottom as they went.
The rooms at this particular brothel were not really known for their style and quality of interior design. He had been in nicer rooms at that brothel and was a little dismayed when she opened the door, still as the secretary had explained, it was a Saturday night and they were busy. The best rooms must be taken. There was a double bed and it wasn’t even made. Snape was actually a ‘gold card’ member, much to his own personal shame and had not slept with an ‘off the peg’ before. He guessed this is what you got if you were not prepared to wait for a better class of girl. He watched the girl before him. She wasn’t amazing, but she was attractive. She had on a visible black bra beneath a black mesh top, a short black skirt of a strange shiny material he was not familiar with, fishnet stockings and knee high black PVC boots. She was a slut and she looked like one, but he was fine with that. She busied herself like the businesswoman she was; putting lamps on that appropriately enough had pink bulbs in and collecting a bottle of wine from a dresser.
"Would you like a drink?" she asked, picking up a glass for herself.
"Yes, I will." He said and watched as she collected another. She popped the cork on the bottle with strong hands and poured them both a glass.
"What should I call you then?" she asked, taking a gulp of the cheap tasting red. Strangely enough he found that his first instinct was to tell her to call him ‘Snape’ or ‘Professor.’
"Severus." He said.
"Nice to meet you Severus."
Whenever Severus Snape slept with a whore he always felt the same way before the sex began. Like he was about to open a present that wasn’t for him. Like it was bad and he shouldn’t want to taste the treats that lay within the wrapping. Like he was a bad person to want to quell the ache of loneliness that burned within him in this way. Turning to prostitutes was something he didn’t think he’d ever do, but he tried to justify it to himself by reminding himself how lonely he had been over the years. He was desperate for company and he missed the touch of a woman, human contact was now but a treat he had to pay for. If he had a partner then he would have no need to go to brothels, but the likelihood of Snape finding a woman who could bare to spend more than an hour in his company was so unlikely it didn’t even bear thinking about. He usually liked to ask the women he fucked there to shower first just to make sure there was no trace of the last customer in there, but there was no time for that. He wanted quick sex and then to get out of there so he could get showered himself; to pretend he was someone else so he wouldn’t have to dwell on the fact that he slept with streetwalkers.
"What do you do?" he asked and looked her up and down, taking in what was not his.
"Everything." She said.
She went over and sat down on the bed and unzipped her boots, slipping them off to reveal fishnet clad toes that wiggled with relief to be freed of their restraints.
He finished his wine and then put the glass back down on the dresser with a clink.
She stood again and peeled off her mesh top and then slid her skirt down over her thighs. When just standing there in bra, black pants and fishnet stockings, she didn’t look like a lady of the night, but like a woman who had dressed up in her finest underwear to please her partner. He often wondered if hookers felt that little stab of insecurity that you feel when you are naked for the first time before a stranger. She reached behind her back and unhooked her bra. It fell to the floor and her hands came up to cup her breasts. He wanted to stand and look at her for a while, to treasure her with his eyes, but he felt he could not. He felt a little sorry for Betty, because unlike most of her kind, she was attractive and blatantly had character to boot, she was in the wrong line of work.
Snape had slept with some of the ugliest women in all of the back streets of London. Some he had paid good money for, some had been cheap. The more you paid the more attractive they generally were, a simple exchange; money for aesthetic pleasure. In the past he had made the fatal mistake of paying before viewing the whore he was to fuck and she had turned out to be so odd looking or so young he couldn’t even bear to watch her strip and he had just left with a caustic remark about her stretch marks or how she should be ashamed of herself, a little poorer than when he had arrived and with a heavy dent in his pride.
Snape was best known at the school were he taught for his lack of thought or feeling. He had reduced some of his more sensitive fellow Professors to tears on particularly bad days. In the company of more appetizing women, he could be normal sometimes.
It was a rare treat for himself to pretend whilst he was thrusting into a faceless woman that she was his partner, maybe a fantasy wife who he could love and hold after the event. A shadow of a woman, a woman who could pretend to understand his many complications for an hour or so. He could let himself go within her, let his fantasies run free, his imaginings of partnership and love and there being someone there the next day. He could be human. He didn’t long for commitment as such, but more for simple company, an occasional brief feeling that someone actually wanted to spend time with him.. Someone to talk to at the very least. Prostitutes ranged from very annoying to mildly irritating to vaguely interesting at times.
There had been one once…. A girl called Jess who was very sweet and understanding when he struggled to get an erection. He had felt so utterly useless he had to just sink his head into her cleavage and lay there in silent shame, watching the seconds click by on the clock as his money ran out and so his time with her. They couldn’t have sex obviously but she had been the nicest yet; so attentive and kind. In reality he knew that after he left she had probably gone down to the others girls in the waiting room and laughed about him being so pathetic. He didn’t like to think about that premise. It made him feel empty, made her feel non-existent to him and he didn’t want that any more than he wanted to be alone. He had tried to find her again but she had disappeared as these girls tend to do from time to time. Probably got herself involved with some thug and moved to another town to start some cycle of violence again. The staff at the brothel had not seen nor heard from her in ages and Snape pretended he didn’t care. Pretended he had just been making conversation about those he had already slept with. But he thought about her from time to time. Now the pretty girl stood topless before him had to have his full attention and he wouldn’t let her down.
"Lamps off." He said and went for his wand but stopped before realizing it would be a tad inappropriate to demonstrate his magical abilities at that time.
"Like it with the lamps off do we?" she said, but he found no need to answer. She extinguished the lamps and then turned back to him. Her silhouette was vague in the dark, but highlighted down her left hand side, the side that faced the curtainless windows illuminated in a thin white thread of moonlight. She pulled her knickers down and walked over to where he stood, she was stockinged and curvaceous.
Her hands reached up in the darkness and touched the sides of his motionless arms. She looked up at his expressionless face.
"So, Severus, how do you like it? What can I do for you?"
He shrugged her hands off and in the same movement caught her wrists, which wore many black studded bracelets. He pulled her close and inhaled her scent. It was like warmed milk and incense smoke; the unmistakable scent of the opposite sex. He caught a glimpse of a shine in her eyes.
"Unattached and emotionless." He said, though felt like he was betraying himself a little. She nodded with a faint smile.
She smiled and pulled him over to the bed. When on there, she undressed him in a way that was supposed to be teasing he guessed, undoing some of the buttons on his formal robes with her teeth and the rest with her black nailed fingers. He couldn’t help but imagine the woman with other men, doing the same thing, saying the same lines. She must have rehearsed them so many times. She came round to kneel at his feet when his upper body was unclothed. He felt himself sigh a little without meaning to as she pulled off his boots. She knelt up fully to push him down onto his elbows and unzip his fly. He watched her as he watched all girls who stripped him. With mild interest and surrender. His trousers came away as he lifted his pelvis to make access easier and then he was naked.
"What do you want?" she asked.
She climbed aboard, so to speak and straddled him. Her well used crotch hovered above his now fully erect cock. Her well scented hair hung in his face and her expert lips were close to his; his being thin and under-kissed, hers like black cherries, plump and with a slight shine under the white moonglow.
"I want to fuck you, that’s what I’m going to pay you for."
"I know that, but what is it you want exactly?"
"What are my options?"
She shifted her weight onto one hand while the other scooped her hair behind one ear, revealing her creamy neck to the pale moonlight. She smiled at him and leant in close to whisper with a pseudo-husky voice; "Well, I could just suck your cock until you’re ready to come and then jump on and finish you off, I could talk dirty to you while you fuck me, I could let you fuck me in the-"
"I get the picture." he said in a tone that sounded entirely unimpressed.
"That not your thing?" she asked, obviously amused at his shortness.
"Not exactly." He took her in hand as roughly as she was used to and pushed her over onto her back. He pinned her hard and sought out the back of one ear with his lips. He kissed the soft skin.
"I’m just going to have to try a few things out then?" she whispered.
"We’ll see what happens, now shut up and do your job." He paused to say with an irritated look.
He kissed her and for the first with a prostitute, she kissed him back. Their mouths moved together in a give and take motion. She noticed he was not overly keen on too much tongue. He was a gentle kisser, if a little inexperienced. But often those who have the least experience can be the best as they are so eager to please. Snape had had himself plenty of casual fucking over the years but had only enjoyed a truly great kiss a handful of times and on those times he had been far to involved in the action to actually think about what he was doing, to remember the technique which had pleased his partner so.
To Betty Velvet, he was something of a curiosity and the closest thing to a gentleman she had encountered in a long time. He couldn’t even bear her to talk filthy to him, which was odd because mostly the men she spent time with loved it. They loved her to act in character; like the whore she was supposed to be. To be so crude it was frankly degrading, but it was, after all, what she was paid for. It was not a career path she had ever really planned on, but either way, she was doing it and had no other way to feed herself or pay the rent so she had to at least throw herself into the manual side of it and try to enjoy the company.
The way this man had looked at her was slightly different. He had his emotions completely concealed until they had got to the bed. He looked so calm and comfortable with himself, almost aloof. He dressed strange too, but within Betty’s line of work people who dressed strange were common so she didn’t worry about it. Being a Goth, she had probably slept with more cross-dressers and people with freaky fetishes than anyone else. He sounded posh and posh types who came round those parts of London in search of sex were often rather naïve and didn’t want any trouble, so they played by the rules. There wasn’t much that Betty didn’t do, but if she wasn’t in the mood for something she didn’t expect to be forced into it. Not that she usually had much choice in that. The bouncers downstairs saw the women the same way the punters did, as whores, so more often than not they got no help when they needed it, despite the threat every punter received when left alone with a girl.
Snape absorbed the woman’s heat, her body warm against him as he kissed her neck and collarbones. The pheromones and gentle sweetness of her scent was a welcome comfort. The feeling of another body was deliriously good and he often felt when he did this that he would pay to just have her hold him, to share her aura with him. Life as the most hated teacher at Hogwarts was a lonely affair and as he grew older and more internally bitter over the years he found he simply could not tolerate the terrible silence that greeted him night after night in his chambers. He had to grudgingly accept that his attitude was the main reason why he had not settled down with anybody yet. He couldn’t help himself. He hadn’t had an easy childhood or adolescence and that starting difficulty had hindered him emotionally somewhat. He had a tongue like a blade that could cut through even the hardest of resolves. His quick insults had made many a pupil cry and he had no regrets. Why should the rest of the world be happy when he could not be? If he couldn’t change the world to suit him then the most he could was attack those who lived so perfectly for enjoying themselves so frequently in front of him. Parading their bliss before him. Which he did often and each time he did it he could feel himself traveling further down the road of solitude.
Old habits are hard to break.
All the romance of Snape simply kissing her neck was starting to feel a little too good and Betty felt like she had to shake herself out of the reverie. She pushed him over onto his back and started to trail hot kisses down over his chest to his abdomen. Snape put his head back and breathed out, looking up above him at the cracked ceiling. She may not be a ‘gold card’ girl, not the kind of girl he would have gone for normally, but she was so warm and affectionate and beautiful. Not in a classic way, but she held some kind of captivating quality that he admired. He squirmed a little with pleasure as her mouth worked its way down to rest between his thighs. She shifted round so she was kneeling between them. Her fingers stroked the taught muscles and then one hand came to rest on his cock; clasping it and holding it fast.
"Now then, Severus, shall we try something out?"
He felt like he didn’t need to speak. He raised his head a little to look at her pretty face, her wide, pretty eyes.
"I’ll just go with what usually works then and see what you think. Stop me if you don’t want me to do anything."
She lowered her head to his erection, maintaining eye contact as she descended. Her mouth opened and then she closed her lips around the tip. Snape moved his arms up to cross them behind his head.
She sucked.
Usually when Betty gave a customer oral pleasure she would think about all manner of random things. Things she needed to buy, a shopping list perhaps. What she would buy if she won the lottery? Who were her top ten favorite female singers of the 80’s? With this strange guy however she found herself feeling a little sorry for him and she tried hard to make him feel better. She could tell the difference between those who came to her for company and those who just wanted to fuck her. He didn’t seem like the sort to just fuck, strangely enough, despite the fact she was his whore. She felt like making him feel a little wanted. He acted like the kind of guy who needed to feel like that. As handsome and gentlemanly as he was, he seemed very bitter and snide.
Her hand began to move up and down his shaft as she sucked him and his breathing became a little deeper. Occasionally he would look down at her and stroke the back of her head. Her rhythm was steady yet intense, wet and syrupy. Her saliva coated him and it felt somehow better than usual. Her eyes bored into him.
Her lips were firm against him, from almost base to tip and it felt delicious. She seemed to be taking her time with him. He, unfortunately didn’t have all the time in the world and as delectable as her mouth was, he would need to move on if he were to catch his train on time.
He shifted her onto her back and knelt up. She parted her legs wide for him and in the striking contrasts of witching hour black with the rays of opalescent moon silver, she looked almost perfect below him, if a little surreal. A gorgeous slut. A fetish model. His erection throbbed a little and he took it in hand, giving it a swift jerk as he dominated above her, between her parted thighs. Her legs were exquisite, clad in the kinky criss-cross of black fishnet. He hooked a finger in one of the holes and pulled a little. They ripped easily. Cheap and nasty. He dragged his finger down the length of her leg and the material parted, tightening before breakage. Her face was a mixture between anger and shock.
"I’m paying you aren’t I?" he said in a silken whisper. "You can always get some more."
She knew better than to argue and hid her disappointment with what she hoped looked like a wanton smile.
He remained still and watched her for a few moments.
Her hands rose to stroke the thin ladder of dark hair that climbed from just above his crotch up to his belly button. He stroked his remaining hand over his stomach and then used it to pin one arm above her head. His other arm came to do the same so she was staked out beneath him. He came down to nuzzle the side of her face for a while, his long black hair trailing against her pleasantly alive and expectant skin. One of her legs came up and hooked over his back. His lips hovered over hers.
"How do you feel?" he asked. It was something Betty had not been asked in, well, she wasn’t sure exactly but it hadn’t been in a long, long time. Come to think of it she wasn’t really sure. Deep inside there was that consistent feeling of worthlessness that haunted most of her heated sessions at the brothel or in the backs of peoples cars. The reminder that he was paying her had been most unwelcome, she had started to actually enjoy the session.
"Are you not sure?" he drawled in his gentleman’s voice. It was like a tide of velvet slipping over her body to cradle her head with soothing tones. He wasn’t sure why he asked her these things. He usually hardly spoke at all to those he slept with, but he felt a little connected to the girl.
"How do you want me to feel?" was the only reply she could possibly think of, though it sounded very clichéd and it made her cringe a little when it passed her lips.
"I don’t want you to feel like a whore." He said.
"But that’s what I am, Severus." In the heat of the moment she wanted that to sound sexy, like she loved being a prostitute. Like fucking all night and then waking up in an empty bed was all she’d ever dreamed of, all she’d ever wanted. But it came out in a slightly more truthful tone, like she was ashamed of herself.
"Sshhh." He said and buried his head in her neck, letting go of her wrists. She wove her fingers into his lank locks of hair and felt the peace of gentle human contact. His hands moved across her, squeezing her full breasts. He was careful and inventive with the ways he touched her. As their bodies moved against each other, she began to lose herself within his tender caresses. His fingers wandered down to the warm, damp pulp between her legs and he stroked his callused thumb over her clitoris. She shivered.
She noticed how dark his eyes were. Like no light could enter and no light could escape, empty voids. The darkest most unpenetratable black she had ever seen and she thought she was accustomed to the dark. She found she could not stop from staring at them every now and again. It was almost as though he didn't have any eyes and that was why she couldn’t help but stare.
His fingers continued to work between her legs. She grabbed hold of his shoulders and squeezed him hard feeling herself almost lift out of the bed. His lips sought out the soft white flesh of her neck. She felt the head of his erection nudge the side of her thigh. Her lipstick was smudged.
"You’re very beautiful. Do you know that, Betty?" he whispered and he meant it.
She felt her heavy lidded eyes close as in her fragile mind; frantic comparisons between the man between her legs now and the man between her legs an hour ago flashed. She saw herself at home where she could be one of her many selves, but the one she liked the most. The one where she wore no make-up, the one where she ate cereal straight out of the packet and listened to the B-52’s on her old stereo on the patio. She saw herself abstractly within this mans arms, waking up with him the next day, trying to figure out as she knelt beside his sleeping form what it was that made him so curious and strange.
"You are the most beautiful woman I have ever spent time with." He was talking half to himself and half straight into her heart, feeling like he was losing it was becoming one of his least favorite past times, showing what he really thought was even less favorable, but he found he could not help himself.
Because sometimes it was just too hard to be the shadow of Hogwarts, sometimes he had to be just a man. He couldn’t always be the scapegoat for everything that went wrong, for every tragedy, for every time Voldemort rose again everyone assumed he had to have something to do with it. He knew he could be a good man at heart, he felt the potential, he knew he had the feelings inside him that made one capable of being loved. He just couldn’t let go of all his past hurts and that was what held him back. There was too much to forgive or forget, a few things in anyone’s past can act as a hindrance, but when you can’t even bring yourself to get close to people because the way they make you feel makes you hurt too much, it is a crippling situation to be in. It was a situation Severus had lived with for a very long time.
When those who made him so bitter at the school humiliated him or gave him reason to be angry, he often felt like just asking them simple questions.
Do you know what it feels like to hurt so much you can feel it in your heart? To feel so much pain you feel sometimes as if death holds no fear because you feel like you are already dead?
To be so lonely you have to pay girls who have to pretend they want to spend time with you, to fuck you?
He let his head simply rest against the waves of black hair beneath him and he breathed. He exhaled a breath of pure pain. He reminded himself of what he was and that was an intolerable fact he hated. Was the key to solving suffering recognizing ones difficulties or just learning how to ignore it in the most efficient way?
"What’s the matter?" Betty whispered from beneath him. She was wriggling a little at his touch. His motion had slowed down a little as his many thoughts had conquered him, but his touch obviously still did something to her. Her hips slowly bucked beneath him.
"Nothing." He said, but felt a distinct lump in his throat.
He sealed her lips with a kiss and her eyes melted shut once more. He guided himself into her and felt a change of pace for himself, the warmth of female genitals trapping him fast and then gradually allowing him to move and slide within her. Monotone rainbows poured into his heart. Color had not really had much of an effect on him for many years. Myriad’s of gray and black blossomed in his mind. Shapes like breasts and sweet silky thighs wrapped about his slender waist filtered through his peripheral vision. Her breath was soft against his skin. He put his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her, plunging his own girth deeper inside the warm wetness that enveloped him.
"Whatever it is, try and let go of it, Severus. Try and enjoy yourself. I am here to be used for that purpose after all, don’t feel bad for it." she said in short pants into his ear.
He slowed his thrusting down to a stop and looked into her eyes, shaded with black below him against the ruffled sheets.
"You are here to make yourself a living. Not to be used. If I could set you free Betty, I would, I would let you go and erase whatever it was that made you live your life this way."
She looked at him. She expected to see a face above her, etched with kindness but he looked down at her with a face so blank of expression and feeling it chilled her to the very core of her soul.
"I just want to be myself." She said quietly.
There was a silence that lasted for some time.
"As do I." He said eventually. He withdrew from her curvy frame and sat up on the edge of the bed, moving her legs out of the way. The time occurred to him and he saw he had fifteen minutes left before he was due to set off for his train. She lay by his side on the bed, feeling very awkward, legs parted and feeling empty. This guy needed help or something. She knew she was not the one to give it him, but she felt some kind of responsibility to him now. She watched the shoulders, obviously knotted hard over years and years of stress gone out of control. His hair lay loose about those shoulders, lank and black. His head turned toward the window and he looked out.
"Have I said something wrong?" she asked.
"No."
He stood and dressed himself, all the time facing away from her, looking out at the view that lay ahead of him out the window. Paths and winding streets guiding drunken yobs and heartless women on their way, each feature facing the stars gilded by moonlight.
"Hey, this ones on me, don’t worry about paying me." Betty said, gathering the sheets from about herself around her naked frame.
He turned and looked at her.
Her guilt showed on her face.
He strode over to where she sat and cupped her little face in one hand. His thumb tried to clean away the smudged black lipstick, but it only made the mess worse. What a kind girl she was, such an obvious whore, but so kind and attentive. No wonder she was so popular. He looked at her as her eyes desperately tried to avoid his insistent stare.
"Let’s try this again some time." She added.
He let go of her face for a moment and thumbed out a thick wad of Muggle notes. He gave her £100 and squeezed it hard into her palm.
"I am not paying the part of you that does this because you feel you have no right to achieve any better, Betty, I am paying the part of you that treat me with humanity this evening. The kind side of you that I do not doubt is exposed to all the men you serve. But either way, that is the girl I am paying, not the girl with ripped stockings and the smudged face." He leant down low and kissed her cheek gently.
She looked at him, puzzled by the rejection.
"I’m sorry I can’t do this, you did nothing wrong, there are some things I need to think about."
He went over to the door and she looked down at the notes in her hand as he stood there, prepared to leave.
"We will not try this again Miss Velvet, I have a lot to blame myself for and your descent into the place where I am now is not something I wish to be held responsible for. Take care of yourself though, you are more beautiful than most would give you credit for."
And then he was gone.
